


Assorted Fic Snippets

by streetsuss_serenade



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetsuss_serenade/pseuds/streetsuss_serenade
Summary: Collecting some stuff I've posted elsewhere.





	1. Nate/Ray

**Author's Note:**

> Based solely off the characters from the mini-series

Ray has always been a night owl, and working at the library has only made that worse. He doesn’t have to be in until eleven, so he has no incentive to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Nate, meanwhile, gets up with the birds and consequently goes to bed embarrassingly early.

One of Ray’s favorite things in the world is when he comes to bed, and slips up behind a sleeping Nate. This is the only time he likes being so much smaller than Nate. When they’re laying side by side, Ray’s legs barely reach down to Nate’s ankles. It makes Nate’s presence seem solid and reassuring.

Nate sleeps on his side in an S-shape. Sometimes when Ray comes to bed, Nate wakes up enough to pull Ray’s arm around and hold his hand pressed to his chest, tucking Ray’s feet, which are always cold, in between his calves for warmth. Other times, he wakes just enough to grunt a greeting before slipping back into sleep.

Either way, Ray lays there in the darkness, face pressed into Nate’s back, knees tucked behind Nate’s and thinks “If I can just make myself still enough, this could be my whole world.” Just Nate. The warmth of him. The smell of him. The press of his back against Ray’s forehead as he breathes. Ray’s not very good at being still, but for a world of Nate, he tries.


	2. Brad/Nate

Brad understands what everyone sees when they look at Nate. They see his wide eyes, seemingly surprised by the entire world; they see the way he tilts his head slightly when thinking something over. They see his lips, chapped from being bitten while Nate makes a decision. Nate looks young. He looks innocent. He looks unable to take on the harsh realities of their world. Brad understands why the men needle him and the other officers underestimate him. 

 

When Brad looks at Nate, he looks at his hands. Nate’s hands look older than his face. His long, tanned hands are marked with scars and callouses. Strong fingers are equally adept at gripping a pen or an M16. Nate’s hands are the hands of a man who doesn’t take the easy way out, who doesn’t rely on others to do his work for him. Brad watches Nate’s hands move sure and steady and has faith.


	3. Nate/Ray

Nate is standing at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for dinner. 'Last Train to Clarksville' is playing. Nate is absentmindedly singing along. Ray comes up behind him, ducks under his arm and steals some of the veggies.

“What are you even listening to? This is like the musical equivalent of a sweater vest.” Ray hops up to sit on the counter and takes a bite of a cucumber slice.

Nate pauses to listen. “I like this song.”

Around the cucumber, Ray says “Well, then I hate to break to to you but your taste in music is equivalent to an octogenarian’s fashion sense.”

When Nate glares at him over his shoulder, Ray shrugs and tosses a cherry tomato into the air, catching it in his mouth “I don’t make the rules, homes.” He bites down viciously, squirting tomato seeds down his front.

As Ray looks down at his shirt and frowns, Nate turns back to his work. With his back still turned, he says “Fancy words for a man I caught singing ‘Love Don’t Cost a Thing’ yesterday.”

“Hey!” Ray points at Nate’s back “JLo is a diva. Do not disrespect Jenny from the Block.”

“And Ke$ha? Is she a diva? Or am I supposed to pretend I don’t know that you have her CD in your car.”

Ray freezes, a second cucumber slice halfway to his mouth. “That….was a gift?”

“Uh huh” Nate says, tossing him a skeptical look “Was it a gift from you to you?”

“You don’t know my life!” Ray yells, hopping off the counter and fleeing before he can incriminate himself further “But the Monkees are old people music, and no amount of slander from you can change that!”


	4. Nate/Ray

Nate is one of those frustratingly efficient people who actually schedules his leisure time,. He read an article once about how regular breaks improve cognitive function or some useless shit like that, and now he puts appointments on the calendar that runs his life for reading or taking a break or doing whatever “hippie granola pagan rituals he’s into now.” (Ray’s words, not his.) 

During one of Nate’s designated reading blocks, Ray comes in, and he wants Nate’s attention, but he knows better by now than to try to interrupt. He settles for snuggling Nate on the couch, and he has the best of intentions, he really does, but he gets bored quickly. Soon, he’s popping his head up off of Nate’s chest to check on Nate’s progress, and then putting it down and sighing dramatically. The third time he does this, Nate moves his arms from Ray’s shoulder and wraps them around Ray’s head and pulls his it back down to his chest, without even looking up from his book.

Ray immediately protests. His voice is muffled by Nate’s arms, and he’s all “Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing. This is unlawful imprisonment! I have rights!” 

Nate is unapologetic.

“You were trying to distract me from my reading, Ray.” 

“Allegedly”  
“That’s not how that word is used.”  
“Allegedly not how that word is used.”  
Nate releases Ray while saying, “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”  
Ray grins, unrepentant, as he reaches his head up to kiss Nate thoroughly.


	5. OT3

Ray kisses like he fights - short quick movements from surprising directions, designed to distract and overwhelm. Brad can personally attest to how effective that can be - in both fighting and kissing. The first time he’d kissed Ray, he’d been so busy trying to follow Ray’s lead that he hadn’t noticed how turned on he was, until he’d practically lost his legs out from under him.

The first time Ray tries that on Nate, though, Nate pulls back and says sternly “No, Ray,” and takes Ray’s chin in both of his hands, holding him still and kissing him how Nate wants, slowly and thoroughly, sucking on Ray’s bottom lip while tilting Ray’s head for better access. Brad finds himself hoping that it’s Ray who let out that weak little moan, because the alternative is embarrassing.


	6. Brad/Nate

It’s been a long day. Airplanes are not built for people of Brad’s height. He’s trying to get out and get home when a nervous young woman steps into his path to thank him for his service and, incidentally, keep him from where he’s going.Brad restrains himself, barely, from snarling at her. When he finally extracts himself from the encounter and heads toward baggage claim, it occurs to him that Nate would be proud of how he handled that. It occurs to him that he thinks about what Nate would think of his behavior an awful lot. It occurs to him that maybe he should do something about that. He drives home on autopilot, grabs his mail and tosses it on the dining table unopened. He crawls into bed and is asleep within minutes. When he wakes up, he makes coffee and sorts the mail into recycling and things that need his attention. He completely forgets about his plan to reach out to Nate.


	7. Ray/Shenanigans

Ray runs a very popular You Tube channel. His videos are mostly him pulling pranks on his housemates and coworkers, and then running for his life, cackling, while they threaten violence and revenge. He’s mostly behind the camera, and when you do see his face, he’s wearing his trademark gold sunglasses. Stafford and Hasser are frequent collaborators. His video of Marines doing the Running Man Challenge goes viral (helped along by Rudy’s shirtlessness.) Some bored journalist decides to unmask the man behind the channel, and digs into him.

The journalist is thrilled to discover that Ray is also behind one of the most popular political podcasts on Itunes. On the podcast, Ray dissects coverage of current events, with a spotlight on how people can frame stories so that they use the same sets of facts to come to different conclusions. He uses his deep background knowledge in seemingly everything to flesh out the stories and help people draw their own conclusions about the geo-political landscape. His podcast is the type that people namedrop at parties when they want to seem smart.

When the journalist’s piece breaks, the internet explodes. The comment section is littered with flamewars as his pretentious podcast listeners try to defend him from the “accusations” that he could be behind such jackassery, and his youtube fans go wild.

Ray is unavailable for comment; his only response is a tweet that says: 

LOL


	8. Brad & Ray

The first time it happens, Ray thinks it might have been an accident. Maybe they keep the liquor on top of the fridge…at the very back…at Brad’s apartment. Maybe he wasn’t thinking when he put Ray’s tequila there. 

The next time, a book Ray’s reading is left on top of his bookshelf, and he’s pretty sure there’s no way that’s an accident. The last straw is when he spends 45 minutes looking for the remote, only to find it on top of the bathroom cabinets. Turns out, Brad is very tall and a GIANT ASSHOLE.

The next time he’s at Brad’s, Ray leaves something hanging off of shelf at just the right height for it to smack Brad in the shins.


	9. Brad & Nate/Wistfullness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like this idea, but I don't like it enough to polish it into something more than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based only on the mini-series

Brad had been planning on breaking in. He’d never broken into an apartment before, but he was pretty sure it couldn’t be too hard. Well, he didn’t actually know if Nate lived in an apartment, but wherever he lived, Brad was confident that he could break in.

Finish his drink. Walk over. Assess the situation. Break in. A perfectly manageable plan that had failed to manage for one important variable - Nate himself. Steps one and two had gone smoothly with some adaptations to acquire additional drinks, but step three had presented unexpected information. Nate was sitting on the porch of his duplex reading a book, and when Brad had approached, he’d looked up and waved. Waving had not been part of the plan.

Brad was more than capable of adapting a plan on the fly, so he waved back and headed over. He stumbled a little on the stairs, but he was pretty sure Nate didn’t notice. Stairs were tricky bastards.

After a few minutes of polite small talk, Nate wrinkled his nose and demanded “What are you drinking? I can smell it from here. It smells like cough syrup.” 

Brad looked at the cheap plastic cup in his hand. “I don’t actually know, “ he admitted “I just told them to fill it with the cheapest clear liquor they had.” He held it out to Nate to try. Nate took a sip and winced. “That tastes like college. Early college.I think you’re drinking some sort of flavored rum.” He sniffed at the cup “I think it’s supposed to taste like ...raspberries?” He looked back at Brad. “Please let me get you something else to drink. Maybe water?” Maybe he hadn’t missed Brad tripping up the stairs after all.

Brad shook his head. Water was a bad idea. Sobriety would not help this plan. Fuzzyheadedness was an essential tool. Everything was soft and unmoored right now, and that was good. It made things easier to say out loud.

“Okay,” Nate said, “ A beer, then?”

Brad thought about it. Now that it had been called to his attention, the liquid in his cup was pretty terrible. He nodded. While Nate went inside, Brad leaned against Nate’s porch rail and closed his eyes. Everything spun pleasantly around him. The night was fairly cool, and if Brad blocked out the freeway sounds, he was pretty sure he could hear crickets.

Nate was back, pressing a cool bottle into his hand. Brad nodded his thanks and closed his eyes again, listening to the nighttime. He could hear Nate settle back into his chair and open his book. Brad liked that about Nate. He wasn’t going to ask a bunch of inane questions just to fill the time. He’d sit there until Brad spoke or left.

A group of people walked down Nate’s street; a woman laughed. It reminded Brad that his sister’s birthday was coming up. He should call her. He also needed to call his insurance company and figure out what was going on with his renewal. He leaned his head back against the porch rail, eyes still closed. There was something else. He also needed to tell Ray whether he was in for camping next weekend. He popped his eyes open. Thinking of Ray reminded him. He wasn’t here for companionable silence. There was a plan.

Ray was leaving. Ray was getting out. That was good. Ray needed to get out. The LT was leaving. That was not good. He needed to stay. Brad needed to tell him. He had been planning on writing a note, but this would work too. 

“You have to stay” Brad said into the silence.

Nate’s head popped up. “What?”

“If you leave, they win. They can’t win. That’s not how this is supposed to work. You have to stay, so they don’t win.”

Nate stared him, speechless for the first time since Brad had met him. Not biting back an inappropriate comment, properly stymied. 

Eventually, he asked “Who can’t win?”

Brad leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. It made everything swoop a little, but it was easier than watching Nate’s face, pale under the porch light.

“The idiots who got promoted beyond their capacity who are now trying to make sure you don’t get promoted above them. You’re better than they are. You can’t reward them for their pusillanimous behavior by quitting. You need to make the system work for you, or else what’s the point of having a system.”

“Make the system work for me?” Nate repeated disbelievingly.

“Get promoted above them and then crush them. Manifest Destiny.”

Nate snorted. “That’s not what that phrase means.”

Brad waved that away. “That’s what it means at its core.”

“Brad, look at me.”

Brad opened his eyes. Nate was leaning forward in his chair, bringing his face closer to Brad’s level. “I’m not leaving because of them. I’m getting out because I can’t be good at the job anymore.”

“Sir, just because the cretinous waste of space that is our CO says...”

“No” Nate cut in forcefully “That’s not why.”

Brad took a sip of his beer. It was a beautiful night. There was a breeze blowing in from the coast. He had a brief flash of how this could have been if he’d met Nate somewhere else. He wouldn’t have to have a plan, having a beer with Nate on his porch could be a routine occurrence. A moment of nostalgia for something that never was.

“Why do you stay in?” Nate asked “If you have such contempt for command, why do you stay?”

Brad looked at him blankly. He would think it was obvious. “Because we know how to do it right, and sometimes they let us.” 

Nate inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I remember that certainty, but I can’t find it anymore.My job is to execute orders. I need to take in the situation and break it into manageable steps. I need to make sure that my team is taken care of, so they’re in shape to execute those steps. It’s not my job question those orders, but ever since I tried to talk my CO out of dropping artillery on his own company,” Nate shook his head “I find myself pausing each time, deciding what I think, whether or not I agree.”

“But you were right” Brad protested “They wanted a useless show of force. It would have accomplished nothing.”

“Maybe. But I got lucky. I didn’t know that we weren’t screening for another force. I didn’t know if anyone else had been sent out, if others were counting on our presence. And even if I were right this time, I’m not always going to be. Eventually I’m going to be wrong and someone’s going to die because I didn’t have all the information. If I thought that changing commanders would help, I would, but I don’t think so. I don’t think I have that certainty in me anymore.” 

Brad swallowed more beer around the lump in his throat. He wished it were water. He suddenly felt too drunk to be having a conversation of this magnitude. Nate was right. If what he was saying were true, he was right. Brad had been so sure of his objective when he started. He had never considered this outcome. He didn’t know what to say next, how to tell Nate how much a blow his departure would be to all of them. He didn’t know if he should.

Brad abandoned his half drunk beer and swung himself to his feet. The spinning, which had been pleasant while he was sitting, was decidedly less so now that he was upright. His stomach lurched sourly.

“I should have known you had it well in hand, sir. I trust your assessment of the situation.”

“Wait, you don’t have to go. Let me at least give you a ride home.”

“No, thank you. I’m all squared away.” Brad said, navigating Nate’s porch stairs with as much dignity as he could muster and headed home. He didn’t have to look back to know that Nate was standing alone on his porch watching him until he turned the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Ron Swanson says that clear alcohols are for rich women on diets, but open container laws are a thing. Brad thinks he's being sneaky.


	10. Brad/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Brad and Ray get a puppy

“Remember that time you punched the toaster and called it a rascal and it flew off the counter and broke the oven?”

Ray looked up from his book warily “It was ‘rapscallion’ and yes. Why?”

“It is possible that I can no longer mock you for that particular lapse of patience because I have done something similarly impulsive.” Brad looks as uncomfortable as he can manage while somehow also looking stoic. Ray knows a bribe when he hears one. Whatever Brad has done, it's something he cares enough about that he doesn't want to get mocked for it.

Last Ray knew, Brad was going across town to pick up a piece of furniture from a Craigslist ad, so Ray can’t be blamed if the first thing that flies out of his mouth is “Did you punch a bookcase?”

Brad smiles a little, but it doesn’t last. “No. But I may have stolen the bookcase man’s dog.”

“What?” Ray looks around wildly for a second to see if Brad has been hiding a dog on his person this whole time and Ray just missed it. The dog is nowhere to be seen, so Ray prioritizes “Dude! You stole a dog? That’s way worse than toaster punching. You can no longer mock me for the toaster and for the time I puked in the plant at that fancy museum party.”

“I had to tell someone that you were a performance artist who was part of the exhibit to keep you from getting kicked out. I’m mocking you for that forever.”

“Fine. But no more telling people the story of the time I didn’t read the bottle correctly and ended up with the world’s worst sunglasses sunburn.”

Brad looks pained -he loves that story, but nods an agreement. This is what love looks like in the Colbert-Person household. It’s a constant flow of wagers, negotiations and points of leverage, but it works for them, so whatever.

“Okay, so you stole a dog. Where is it now?”

“She’s in the bathroom”

“You know we’re not allowed to have pets, right?”

“I am familiar with the terms of the lease I signed, yes” Brad says stiffly.

When Ray gets into the bathroom, his heart somehow floats and breaks at the very same time. It’s a disorienting feeling, and Brad is very good at eliciting it in him. Brad has made a bed of towels in the tub, and nestled inside it is a very small white and brown puppy. She doesn’t look old enough to be separated from her mother, and she barely raises her head when Ray crouches by the edge of the tub and reaches in to run a hand along her back. He absently notices that Brad has used his favorite cereal bowl for a water bowl for the puppy, because even when he’s rescuing innocent creatures he’s an asshole. It’s the Colbert way.

From behind him, Brad says. “He had her tied up outside! There was a dirt rut where she’d worn away all the grass.!” Brad’s voice is tight with fury. “There were flies on her and she didn’t even care!”

“What’s her name?”

“Her tag said Precious, but that’s an asinine name. I think we should call her Clio.” The muse of history. Ray shook his head to himself. Of course Brad did. Of course he did.

Ray tosses a grin over his shoulder “So I guess we’re moving, huh?”

Brad grins back at him, and this time the smile sticks.


	11. Brad/Nate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Brad/Nate + things you said over the phone

Of all the things that happened and didn’t happen - all of the furtive hookups, the mornings after when he woke up alone, the fights, the long silences - the only thing Nate couldn’t forgive Brad for was the voicemail.

“I’m sorry for calling so late. just got the news. I…umm..I wanted to say,” There’s a long silence and then Brad clears his throat, “I always thought it would be us. That you would be there when it was time, when I was ready. I guess I should have told you that. Anyway. Congratulations. Be happy. You deserve it.”

A simple message. A life changing message, if it hadn’t come too late, if Nate hadn’t already built a life, made a vow. The one thing from which Nate will never recover.


	12. Brad/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Brad/Ray + things you said at the kitchen table

“You know” Brad said conversationally as he sat down with his coffee “There are people whose job it is to test products and tweak them until they are the ideal versions. Food scientists spend month, and sometimes years, on a product. There are focus groups involved, Ray.”

“What’s your point?” Ray asked, not looking up from the project in his bowl.

“My point, you simpleminded miscreant, is that, while I don’t know what food product that used to be before you defiled it, I am certain that this is not its intended usage.”

“Someone woke up feeling sanctimonious” said Ray as he got up to get the milk and pour it in his bowl. “My graham cracker mush is not hurting the feelings of any weakass corporate nerds, and if it is, who the fuck cares? You can’t sit here and tell me that I need to stifle my creativity, my individuality and deny myself my godgiven right to enjoy myself in my own fucking home just to placate our capitalist overlords. Seriously, homes, this is America. Land of the free and home of the fucking brave. This dish is what we fought for, dude. For my right to eat graham crackers however I damn well please.”

Brad, who’d been frozen since he first heard the words “graham cracker mush” closed his eyes in a long, slow blink.

“That dish, and you, are abominations against God and man. I regret every single one of the choices that led me to this moment.”

Ray grinned at him around a lumpy, beige, mouthful “Yeah, baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”


	13. Brad & Nate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human!Nate could definitely still knock a vampire on his ass, lbr.

Brad had been stronger than most people back when he’d been human, much less since he’d become a vampire, which is what made it so surprising to be knocked on his ass by a kid.

Brad tore himself free of the sweatshirt he was tangled in, fangs bared and ready to spring up and defend himself, only to find that the guy who’d thrown the sweatshirt and then shoved him surprisingly hard was simply standing there, arms crossed and glaring at him.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” the guy demanded.

Brad looked down the sidewalk, where the exhausted student he’d trailed out of the library was getting away, unaware of the danger he’d just escaped.

When he looked back at the guy who’d stopped him, the kid was doing his best impression of Brad’s third grade teacher, Mrs. Casey, who’d been perennially disappointed in him the entire year. The resemblance had to be why, instead of jumping to his feet and biting the wannabe vigilante, Brad said “ You know we can feed without killing you.”

The guy’s expression didn’t lighten. “Can you feed without traumatizing us?”

Brad closed his eyes against a dozen memories. The guy snorted “Didn’t think so.”

Pissed, Brad stood up. He saw the kid fight the urge to step back, and the kid rose in his estimation a few notches.

“Yeah, well, you know what’s more traumatizing? Blood mania. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Starts with a massacre? Usually ends with a vampire dying a slow death via cruxifiction?”

Brad had rolled into a town a few years ago, shortly after a vampire had tried to go off of human blood completely. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. 19 dead, 31 wounded, and a vampire dying slowly in front of the police station, protected from the sun, so the cross he was nailed to could slowly eat through him.

The guy blinked. His eyelashes were unusually long. “I thought that as something that vamps…vampires…made up to feed off of us.”

“It isn’t,” Brad said curtly, turning to go. He did need to feed sooner rather than later, and he clearly needed to find a new hunting ground.”

“Wait!”

Brad turned back as the guy asked, “How does it work? The mania? What do you need to do to prevent it?”

No one had ever taught Brad about blood mania, exactly. Whichever asshole had sired him had been long gone by the time he woke up. He’d figured a lot out by trial and error, and picked up some bits and pieces from other demons along the way. Vampires tended to be solitary, but some of them had taken pity on him when he was newly made and explained the basics. At least enough to keep him from getting his ass dead (again.)

“Animal blood keeps us fed, but it only goes so far. We need human blood regularly or we lose…” Brad struggled to put it into words, “Whatever ‘us’ there is aside from the blood lust.”

The guy on front of Brad still looked disapproving, but the disapproval no longer looked like it was directed at Brad. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “But if that’s true…why don’t they….I mean, hospitals have blood.”

Brad shrugged, “In my experience, hospitals and blood banks prefer to use their blood reserves to save living people, not dead ones.”

The guy’s frown deepened. “Can’t you just ask someone to donate for you? You don’t need a lot, right?”

Brad laughed bitterly. “I can’t see a lot of people volunteering for that blood drive.”

“I would!” The guy protested, “I will.” He looked Brad square in the eye. “You’re here because you need to feed right? You can drink from me.”

Brad stared. Nothing about this night was going how he’d expected, but this was beyond the pale.

“Not here, obviously.” The guy gave Brad a lopsided smile, “I’m not that stupid. Can you wait?”

Brad nodded, still a little dazed.

“Good. The day after tomorrow? 8 pm?”

As if Brad had a robust social calendar he needed to balance. He nodded again.

“Okay, I live at the big house at the corner of 6th and Green. You know it?”

Brad found his voice, “The one with the flag hanging out of the second floor and the couch in the front yard?”

“That’s it.”

The guy stepped forward and stuck out his hand, “By the way, I’m Nate.”

“Brad.” Brad shook the kid, Nate’s hand mechanically. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had…people didn’t…it wasn’t part of his life as a vampire.

“Okay, then,” Nate said, picking up his sweatshirt from where Brad had left it on the ground, and walked away. He turned his back on Brad with no thought at all, his assumption of his safety, of Brad’s good faith evident in every line of his bearing.

Two nights later, Brad found himself apprehensively walking up to the house Nate had pointed him to. He doubted that there’s was anything a group of college students could do to hurt him, but nothing about his interaction with Nate had gone as expected, so he was more cautious than he might have been otherwise.

As he reached the front steps, Nate stepped out. He’d clearly been waiting for Brad. The sharp smell of blood followed him into the night, and Brad immediately zeroed in on the bandage around his elbow, and the grocery bag he was carrying.

“Hey! Right on time!” Nate’s voice was friendly, but he was eyeing Brad apprehensively. Brad didn’t blame him. This close, it’s evident that he was significantly taller than Nate. Their eyes were level, even though Brad was still standing a step below Nate on the porch.

Nate thrust the bag forward. “Will this be enough?”

In the grocery bag was a standard blood bag, with at least a pint of blood in it. Brad was surprised at the official equipment, especially when he could smell that the blood was clearly Nate’s.

“Uh, yeah, that will be sufficient. Thank you. How did you…?”

Nate smiled and handed him the bag. “Some of my fraternity brothers are pre-med. They’ll use any excuse to get some real life practice.”

Brad nodded. Feeling awkward that Nate had gone so much trouble for him, he turned to go. Nate stopped him for the second time in their short acquaintance.

“Wait! How long will that last you?”

Brad tried to work it out. He judged by the feeling more than the human calendar. He’d last fed from someone wearing a jingle bell necklace, and it was now late February, so, “10 weeks? 12 at a stretch?”

“Okay” Nate said, and pulled out his phone. He clicked through a few screens. “Ten weeks puts us right at finals. Can we do it a little earlier? It’s a good thing I’m staying on campus this summer.” He said it more to himself than to Brad. “The last week of April? Wednesday again. Would that work for you?”

Brad nodded, almost admiring the way that Nate had pulled the rug completely out from under him for another time.

“Great,” Nate said, and gave Brad a genuinely warm smile. “See you then.”


	14. Nate/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to work the sound of music reference into a fic eventually...

“Nathaniel!” Ray said, “You’re back from the frozen wastelands of the north! How was the conference? Stuffy and full of self-aggrandizing assholes as per usual?”

Nate kissed him hello and headed into the bedroom to drop off his stuff. “It was fine. How was home?”

“Boring,” Ray said, wrapping his arms around Nate’s waist and manhandling him toward the bed. “Also, I decided that you need to give me a nickname. Like how I have for you. How else are people going to know that we are best buds?”

“I hate to break it to you, but calling me by the full version of my name is the exact opposite of a nickname.” Nate wrapped an arm around Ray in a futile attempt to forestall future wiggling, and pressed a kiss to Ray’s temple.

“Well, you’re the one who said I had to stop calling you Nathaniel Hawthorne!”

“Nathaniel Hawthorne isn’t a nickname either. It’s a nineteenth century writer who was prone to indulging in run-on sentences.”

Ray pouted outrageously. “Stop being such a curmudgeon. All I want is a simple thing that I can clutch to my lonely bosom to keep me warm on the long cold nights while you’re away.”

Nate snorted and pressed a kiss to the side of Ray’s neck. Coquettishly, he said, “You poor neglected thing. However can I make it up to you?”

“By giving me a nickname!” Ray insisted, “Have you not been listening?”

Nate sighed and rolled onto his back. Clearly Ray was in the mood to be difficult. “Did you have something in mind?”

“You can’t nickname yourself.” Ray replied scornfully.

“Okay. How do you feel about Ace?”

Ray scoffed, “Clearly a nickname for lesbians.”

“Okayyyy…Handsome?”

“Only if you don’t mind Brad spontaneously combusting the first time he hears you.”

“Chief?”

“Naaaaaaate”

“You’re such a pain in the ass. Can I call you that? As a nickname?”

“I am the light of your fucking life, dude, you don’t even know.”

Nate tilted his head thoughtfully. “This is…true. You’re a goddammed delight. One might even say…”

Nate rolled over and raised himself up over Ray, “that you’re a drop of golden sun.”

“Fuck you!” Ray said, appalled, “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t what, sunshine?” Nate grinned wickedly and then kissed Ray before he could respond.


	15. Brad/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I can't stand the thought of losing you

“It’s true!” Reporter insisted. “Chimpanzees masturbate! They even suck themselves off.”

“I almost pet a chimpanzee once.” Ray put in from where he was lying in his grave, arms crossed behind his head.

“Bullshit,” Walt said immediately.

“No, I did. I got away from my mom at the zoo, and I dragged a trash can over to the cage so I could climb higher than the plexiglass part and reach my arm through. But then some stranger saw me and dragged me away before I could get the chimp to come over. My mom had to come pick me up from the security office, and we both got yelled at. She made me wear one of those backpacks with the string on them after that.”

Everyone gathered around the Humvee laughed at the mental image of small Ray struggling against the restrictions of a tether. 

“Of course you were a fucking leash kid” Walt said, “Of course you were”

“Whatever, homes, that thing was awesome. It looked like a frog, and I could stash my snacks in it.”

“Sergeant,” Trombley piped up as Brad walked around the corner “Ray says you can leash him if you want.”

“Kinky.” Brad said drily, “but no thank you. If Ray runs off with a goat for some private time, I for one do not want to get involved.”

“Pssh, you’d be lost without me.”

Brad stared at Ray for a moment and then said “It’s true. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” He turned his head to the side and spat, then added “The paperwork I need to fill out if we lose a piece of equipment is egregious. I can only imagine that the paperwork for losing personnel would be even more offensive.”


	16. Brad/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I need you to pretend we're dating

Ray had been more distractible than usual during this phone call, so it was barely a surprise when he coughed and said ‘Hey, so I need a favor.”

Brad mentally braced himself. Ray’s relationship with appropriate boundaries was fluid at the best of times, so anything that Ray was nervous to ask was bound to be a doozy. “Okay,”

“I need you to pretend we’re dating.”

Caught off-guard, Brad laughed. Ray, misinterpreting his laughter as mockery, rushed on “I know, okay, but I was talking to my boss about your visit, and I didn’t want to get into a whole thing with him, so I told him you were my partner, but now there’s a company thing next weekend when you’re in town and …”

“Ray, shut up” Brad snapped. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. For a smart man, Ray was surprisingly, some might say willfully, stupid about some very basic things, but this was a misunderstanding of fairly preposterous proportions, even for Ray.

Brad spoke slowly and deliberately, to make sure Ray was following. “I understand that social conventions are slightly different in the backwoods, inbred, cesspool that you call home, but I talk to you on the phone regularly, I drag my ass out to that same cesspool when I can, I listen to you bitch about something called the Rainbow Road in a video game that I do not care about, and we have sex regularly. I cannot believe I have to spell this out for you, you simple-minded fuck, but we are already dating.”


	17. Brad/Nate, Nate & Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr title for this was Sick Fick, and I am honestly still pretty amused at the dumb play on words.

Nate’s cellphone began to ring on the counter. Ray glanced over and saw the Oceanside number with a blank contact field.

Thinking quickly, he flipped open the phone, answered and said, “Helllllloooooo mystery caller, this is Ray. I recognize your area code, but Nate has suspiciously left your contact out of his phone. If you’re calling on official business, I would be happy to take a message. If you are calling on unofficial biznass, you’ll have to call back later. Nate’s sick and he’s asleep right now. Don’t worry, it isn’t anything that will kill him- unless he suffocates from having his head shoved so far up his own ass.”

A muffled snort on the other end of the line told Ray all he needed to know.

“In two hours, I’ll be waking His Highness up so he can bitch at me for not letting him starve to death. Try calling back then.”

As promised, two hours later Ray carried a tray made from the torn off lid of a pizza box in to Nate, with a fresh box of tissues, a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and his phone.

“Wakey-wakey, Nathaniel!” Ray sing-songed. “It’s time for dinner!”

“Leave me alone” Nate grumbled into the pillow. “I’m dead. I’ve moved beyond physical needs and desires. Let me have my afterlife in peace.”

“Dude. We went over this at breakfast. If you were dead you would be significantly less of a pain in my ass, so why don’t you just eat the fucking soup and get this over with?”

“I hate soup.” Nate said, but he rolled over, so that was a start. Ray had genuinely never seen anyone who was as bad at being sick as Nate Fick. When Ray had knocked on his door, Nate had shuffled to the door with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, taken one look at Ray and his bag and said “No.” before slamming the door. Luckily, he hadn’t locked it, and so Ray had the dubious honor of nursing him back to health. 

Nate sat up, and glanced from the phone to Ray questioningly. “You received a call from Oceanside earlier. Don’t worry, I didn’t ask. I just told your unnamed friend to call back.” Nate rolled his eyes at Ray’s subtle insinuations, but didn’t have time to answer before his phone rang.

“Hey” Ray wondered if Nate knew how bad he was at keeping his own secrets. He wouldn’t say anything worth hearing while Ray was there, but the lines of his entire body had relaxed, and his face was radiating warmth and happiness despite the red nose and the watery eyes. 

“I’m fine. I just have a cold.”

“THE FLU” Ray shouted over him.

Nate flipped him off.

“Well, unless Ray got a medical degree since the last time I saw him, I don’t know why you’re taking his word over mine.”

There was a pause while the person on the other hand answered, and Nate made a face. Ray stage whispered, “Is he pointing out that it’s because you chronically under-report your own symptoms, and thus cannot be trusted to self-evaluate?” 

Nate pretended not to hear him.

“I don’t know why Ray’s here. He said he had college interviews and he “forgot” to call ahead.” 

Ray knew those aggressive air quotes were for his benefit. He felt the love. 

Preliminaries over, the person on the other end of the line got down to business. Ray didn’t know what exactly he was saying, but he marveled at how Nate managed to completely change the energy of the room, without doing or saying anything. He was still balancing the phone between his ear and his shoulder, spooning soup into his mouth between sentences, nodding and agreeing, but the joy had been sapped from the room with the tightening of his shoulders and a slight tilt of his mouth. 

“Yeah, okay. Stay safe.”

On the other end, the caller said something that had Nate grinning again, “Yeah, fuck you too.” His tone was fond. Nate hung up the phone and looked at Ray, “He says that, knowing what a pissy bitch I am when I’m sick, you need the warning more than he does.”

Nate pressed his fingers hard against the back of the phone. Ray considered calling him out for it, but decided everyone was entitled to their weaknesses even if Nate had, to Ray’s mind, appalling taste in weaknesses.

“I’m not afraid. You live for my tender ministrations.” Ray put an extra sashay in his step as he headed out of the room, “Maybe if you’re extra good, there’ll be a sponge bath later!”


	18. Brad/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can we pretend I didn't just say that?

“Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?”

“You know perfectly well that I only listen to 50% of the gibberish that springs half-formed from your cretinous, food-covered face, and I only indulge you that much because you whine if I don’t,” Brad said, without taking his eyes off of the road.

They’d sped up, but it was hard for Ray to tell if that was because Brad was upset or because he was trying to pass the Camry in the middle lane. They’d been playing leapfrog with that Camry for at least 70 miles, and Brad was starting to take it personally. Brad drove like a maniac under most conditions, which was why the drives out to Ray’s family’s home were so good for him. Lots of long, boring stretches of highway to indulge his lead foot with fewer chances of killing them both.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a hardcore, cold-blooded badass, who wouldn’t deign to let me insult him even if he had feelings, which he clearly does not. Whatever you say, Robocop.” Ray was laying it on too thick, and he knew it. He was pretty sure Brad was going to notice in a second, but he couldn’t tell if Brad was upset or not. Unfortunately, the quickest way to get Brad upset if he wasn’t was to be nervous about Brad’s feelings. Brad really hated that walking on eggshells shit.

“Ray,” Brad interrupted, a little softer than before, “How long have I known you?”

“I don’t know, dude. A long ass time.”

“And do you think we would have gotten this far without me punching you in the face if I hadn’t learned to tell the difference between when you’re being an asshole on purpose and when you’re being an asshole because your mouth ran ahead of your whiskey-tango brain and landed on insulting when you were shooting for funny?”

Ray relaxed into his seat. And then, because he couldn’t help himself, decided to press his luck.

“Well, I don’t think we can say you’ve never punched me in the face.”

Brad shot him an irritated glance, and then merged into the center lane ahead of the impudent Camry.

“You ran your face into my hand because you were too busy fucking around to look where you were going. That doesn’t count. A punch requires intention. It isn’t my fault that your face is at my arm level.”

“There was intention!” Ray cried, “You swung your arm out at just the right moment. Just the right moment, Bradley. I see right through your pitiful lies”

“Shut up, Ray” Brad said, but Ray knew what he meant.


	19. Brad/Nate

Brad knew he was fucked when he realized that Nate’s smile scared him. Genuinely scared. When Nate smiled at Brad, it wasn’t the patient, indulgent smile he’d come to expect from the people who loved him. It didn’t come with a small headshake and the implied “you’re hopeless, but I love you anyway.” When Nate smiled at Brad, it shattered something deep inside him; It shone light into places Brad hadn’t looked in years and it cracked open things Brad hadn’t realized we’re frozen shut. It made him think in possibilities instead of necessities.


	20. Qtip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen Kill Bingo Prompt: Qtip + Soulmates.

Qtip’s mom hated it when he pointed to things that weren’t there. When he was in his crib, before anyone called him anything but Evan, he’d reached for the sparkles around her and she’d flinched back as he were going to strike her with his little toddler hands.

His Grammy told him he was seeing god’s lights. His mom said that auras were “holler bs” and she didn’t want to hear anything more about them. She said that she’d moved them away from her hometown to Nashville, because she didn’t want her kids growing up with “any of that small town nonsense.”

Qtip stopped talking about them, but he didn’t stop seeing them. Everyone had a glow around them, brighter around their faces and hands. When his mother wasn’t listening, Grammy told him that seeing auras was a special talent that people in their family had, and that you could use the lights to tell things about a person. Their colors, the shapes, and how clear or muddy they were could tell you what someone had in their heart and how they felt about you.

His Grammy’s lights were green like the lilac bush outside her house. They flowed freely in a wide circle around her. Qtip’s mom’s lights were harder to see. They were tucked in close to her skin, but sometimes, when she was relaxed, a warm violet floated free. His own aura was as yellow as a dandelion. To match his hair, Grammy said.

He was so used to seeing auras that he’d never thought about what it might mean for him as a Marine. It wasn’t until he was in training that he realized that it could be a liability. Guys were under so much stress that their auras were endlessly shifting. He quickly had to train himself not to flinch when he saw bursts of black bloom out of the corners of his eyes as someone else fucked up and was roundly corrected.

It the civilian world, personal space was important, respected. What Qtip could see, even if most couldn’t, was that personal space was people protecting their auras from the energy of others. But in the Marines, personal space was a luxury no one could afford, and he had to get used to the feeling of people moving through his space continuously. Soon, it felt weirder when someone wasn’t in his space.

At first, Bravo was no different. He immediately scanned his platoon and his team and was pleased with what he saw. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the officers, his platoon commander included glowed a bright, steady blue in his vision. Many of the others were varying shades of purple and indigo. Person was a bright spot of chaotic orange shaking things up, and keeping people on their feet. It was good to have another warm aura around.

But then something happened which Qtip had never seen before. Their auras started to change, together. Everyone’s auras changed sometimes - sometimes fucked up things happened or you grew up some or something. The people around you could change your aura - make you optimistic or more defensive or full of sorrow. But the shifts always reflected changes in the person whose aura it was.

The first time Qtip noticed it was in Kuwait. He was cleaning his weapon and looked down, and there was a ring of dark purple around his normal sunny yellow. He didn’t think much of it, until Gunny crouched by his side and he noticed that Gunny had a edge of purple too. He kept his eyes open, and noticed that he could catch glimpses of the same color around all of them, even around people whose auras were normally pulled in tight like Doc and T.

When they crossed the LOD, it became more pronounced, all of them wearing rings of orange so bright that he thought they should short out the nvgs. When things began to go wrong, the Qtip tried not to notice how the color was muddied and muted. He didn’t have time for their grief. He didn’t have time for his own.

The fucked up thing was that this was happening the same way to everyone, like it wasn’t showing things in each Marine, but reacting to external things happening to them as a group. This was a separate, unit aura, that spread among them and between them. An additional color. They had their selves, untouched, and then they had their platoon, as much a part of them as their essential self, but also apart from them and connected with others.

He knew that it should freak him out, but it was hard to be bothered by something that felt as natural as checking his sector or knowing how pissed off the LT was by looking at the backs of his ears. It felt as right as finishing Christeson’s sentences or knowing which song Gunny was going to sing right before he started. How could he be bothered by something that was as comfortable as his own skin?


	21. Qtip & the Batallion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen Kill Bingo Prompt: Qtip+ Rivalry

“There’s something morbid about a battalion having a newspaper,” Nate said as he sat down near where Mike was perusing Qtip’s latest edition.

Mike shrugged. The LT wasn’t wrong, but the thing of it was, this thing wasn’t half-bad. The kid could be pretty funny once he settled down and spoke in complete sentences.

“It’s going to get us all written up if the wrong person sees it,” Nate fretted.

“Mebbe so,” Mike said “But scrounging for gossip and paper to write it on keeps him out of trouble.” He nodded significantly in the direction of the patch in the tarpaulin that resulted from Qtip trying to teach Christeson knife throwing.

Nate sighed. “How bad is it this time?”

Mike shuffled through the MRE wrappers which Qtip used as pages. “Well, here’s a cartoon of that Lieutenant from Alpha as a mole. He’s wearing dark glasses and his eyes are little Xes, just in case you didn’t get the joke about him being blind.”

Nate groaned and shut his eyes. “Don’t tell me anything else. I can’t know about this.”

Mike snorted, imagining Nate trying to explain to Godfather with a straight face why his Marine was drawing caricatures of Patterson’s Marines and distributing them around camp. God, but he was glad he didn’t have Nate’s job.

The Morning Report  
All the news that’s fit not to print

(“Get it?” Qtip had asked “because I ain’t printing it! It’s freehand!”)

Weather:  
Today: Hot as Balls Tonight: Cold as Balls Air Quality: Sand

Tomorrow: Hotter than today, chance of fuckups. Tomorrow night: Nah, son. Air Quality: Toxic gas.

News:  
Cpt. Schwetje takes a listening tour of the battalion. Reports “I hear my Marines. They are angry.“ No word if he also heard that they are hungry.  
Unnamed marine has trouble aiming his shit. “Just wipe it off,” he says, when confronted. Can he be trusted with a weapon?  
Marines fixing their radios with scraps accidentally summon demon; Demon takes one look at Iraq and asks to be sent back home.  
Translator enjoys creative writing, has a new story every day. Marines wonder if he will ever try his hand at telling the truth.  
Local Marines concerned about combat stress instructor; Concerned about when will he leave them alone.  
Cpl. Stafford, set a new battalion record by correctly producing 14 movie quotes in a row before getting stumped. Says witness, PFC Christeson, “Screwby.”   
JLo Watch 2003 - No updates. Is it time to give up hope for Jenny from the Block?

Stats:  
Tanks reported which did not exist: Alpha:140, Bravo: 0, Charlie: 0

Charms thrown at Redman before he woke up: Alpha:0, Bravo: 0, Charlie: 6

Dogs fed: Alpha: 1, Bravo: ½*, Charlie: 3

Airfields unsuccessfully reconned: Alpha: 1, Bravo: 0, Charlie: 0

Airfields seized like a motherfucker: Alpha: 1, Bravo: 1, Charlie: 1

Haji goats seized and roasted: Alpha: 0, Bravo: 0, Charlie: 0, Meesh: 1

Ethnicities claimed by Sgt. Espera: 6

* Food was thrown but not observed to be eaten because Sgt. Colbert got mad.

Text


	22. Qtip & Vulnerability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen Kill Bingo Prompt

Qtip hated that old man. He hadn’t at first. It was cool to have the captured haji tied up by their truck. Everyone could see that Team Two was not to be fucked with.

But the old man kept thanking them. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for not killing me, thank you for giving me water, thank you for not making me piss myself. Always in that desperate tone; always pathetically grateful.

He sat with his knees up, head bowed, and Qtip hated him. He hated the man’s pubey hair, his trembling voice, the dirt beneath his nails, his stupid fucking sandals

The haji cried, and he didn’t care if they saw him. Qtip thought about the woman Jacks wouldn’t shut up about. The hot one who had yelled at Sgt. Colbert. Qtip hated this man for not being her, for not fighting them, for not telling them to fuck off, damn the consequences. He’d abandoned dignity for life, and Qtip hated him for it.

He hated the curve of his shoulders and the way he wouldn’t make eye contact. Qtip stood guard and he was full of hatred.

It sat under his ribs, twisting and terrible. His mouth tasted like bile - like fear. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to be reminded of how it felt to cower before someone who could just as easily harm you as help you. He didn’t want to go back to the place where his mind was constantly racing - trying to come up with the right combination of pleas and excuses to avoid a blow, or worse. He hated this haji fuck for putting him on the other side of that equation.

Fuck this. Evan was a Marine. He was First Recon. He wasn’t a scared little kid. He was swift, silent and deadly, motherfucker. He had worked hard for that, and he wasn’t going to feel bad about it just because of some stupid old man.

Qtip would never know what the LT saw or didn’t see in his face as he walked by. All he knew is that Fick stopped short and barked “Baptista, guard the prisoner. Stafford, with me.”

Fick strode off without looking behind him, and Evan scrambled to his feet to fall into step with him. Fick walked past all of the rest of Bravo’s Humvees without pause, heading toward the command vehicle and H&S. Qtip wanted to ask where they were going, but the LT had that look in his eye - the one that said that fuckers were going to get dropped if they got in his way.

It wasn’t until they were past the command vehicle that the LT spoke. He gestured toward the trucks being loaded with prisoners, and then over to where Ferrando was surrounded with their commanders and some assholes from the reserves.

“Takes a lot, doesn’t it? All these men. All these moving pieces. We’re all just doing our part.”

Evan swallowed. They were all just doing their part. Lieutenant Fick, and him, and that haji fuck, all just doing their part.

Fick clapped him on the shoulder and said “Doc’s examining the noncombatants who were sheltering here. Go see if he needs help distributing the humanitarian rations.”

“Aye aye, sir”


	23. Brad&Ray&Barry(?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray+ shenanigans, Brad/Ray if you squint

It was only four when Brad’s phone signaled that he had an incoming text message, but he wasn’t surprised to see that Ray’s drunk spelling was in full effect.

Translating with a practiced eye, he read

 

“I know you think you’re better than all of us with your monster cock and your magic Talmudic” (Brad was 80% sure that was what Ray was trying to spell) “superiorness, but I need you to promise me that if you meet someone named Barry, you will at least try to befriend him. Or restrain him until I can get there and convince him that buried beneath the eighteen different layers of asshole, you are somewhat worth knowing. Promise me, Brad. It’s important.”

Ray is drunk enough that he can’t type, but that doesn’t require very much alcohol, so Brad is pretty sure the incoherence is Ray trying to bait him into asking why so Ray can deliver a punchline. He usually tries not to encourage Ray, but Brad doesn’t have anything better to do this afternoon, so he types back,

“Are you trying to get me to go on a vision quest with you again? I told you to stop drinking things that Southern Californians tell you are peyote. 9 times out of 10 it’s just weeds and drain cleaner.”

“Fuck that” Ray says instantly, “I don’t need to be high to know that this is an excellent plan. Okay, so first, we find someone named Barry and then we befriend him, and then later if we get married we can combine our names and write a book, and everyone will buy it because they will think it is by the OTHER Ray Bradbarry and we’ll be rich enough to buy all the drugs we want!”

This is why it is worth it to indulge Ray every now and again. There is never a way to predict what kind of gibberish his brain will spin next. Not that Brad plans on telling him this.

“The only way I would marry you is if the choice was between you and marrying someone named Barry and death was not an option.”

“Rude, Bradley. Why must you deny the love you feel for your best good pal?”

Before Brad can answer, he gets simultaneous texts from Poke and Nate.

Pokes’s says “Someone let your boy out of his padded room again. I thought you said you talked to him about drunk texting?”

Nate’s says “Ray just asked me to perform your wedding ceremony and offered to ‘cut me in on the profits’ if I looked the other way while the two of you married someone named Barry. Should I be concerned that Ray is holding someone against his will?”

Brad really should have turned his phone off.


	24. Brad/Nate/Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nate X authors choice "how is my wife more badass than me?"

“How is my wife more badass than me?” Ray complained, tossing his phone down on the couch.

“The real question is, how are you surprised?” Brad said, “She fights fire for a living.”

“Okay, but when we got together, we were, like, equally badass. I was just out of the Marines and playing in a band, and she was a trainee. It was balanced, and now she’s fucking jumping out of helicopters to practice at fighting a fucking forest fire and I program virtual reality golf games for lazy fucks who can’t even drag their rich asses out to their massive backyards to putt. What the fuck? I thought we were supposed to like fucking grow together or whatever. That’s the only reason to give into the capitalist, patriarchal tradition in the first fucking place!”

“Well, then you were hoodwinked, because Kristina is significantly cooler than you are ever going to be. A priest and joint filing status was never going to change that.”

“Be nice,” Nate chided from his spot at the end of the couch, “Ray’s clearly having a crisis of confidence, and there’s probably something in the rules that says we’re supposed to be helpful.”

“Yeah, Bradley! I am in a fragile state! Be a good boyfriend and protect my delicate spirit!”

Brad rolled his eyes.

“If Ray is dumb enough to think that proximity was somehow going to overcome his goat-fucking, food spewing, whiskey-tango tendencies, despite years of evidence to the contrary with the two of us, I am not going coddle his sad, deluded ass.”

“Yo! Fuck you! I might not be as badass as my wife, but I can definitely keep up with you two sad motherfuckers.”

“Ray, I am a recon Marine and Nate literally beats people up for fun. You never stood a chance.”

“I really hate it when you refer to my hapkido practice as beating people up.”

Brad and Ray scoffed in unison.

“I hate to side with Brad when he’s being such an asshole, but, dude, you literally threw someone into a wall the last time we watched you spar. What the fuck else is he going to call it?”


	25. Brad/Nate/Ray

I want to tell you about Ray and Brad nervously trying to plan a vacation for Nate.

So Nate…doesn’t take vacations. He lives far away from everyone, so when he has time off, he visits people. This is also convenient because then he doesn’t have to plan anything. He just buys a ticket and shows up.

Ray also doesn’t plan vacations, but he does take them. He just find the cheapest warm place to fly to and a cheap motel and shows up. Ray just wants a place to sleep in, a beach to hang out on and to drink. A lot. Sometimes he takes excursions, but mostly he makes friends and lounges.

Brad on the other hand, has spreadsheets. They have cost comparisons. He has a bucket list of places he wants to travel, and when he gets the opportunity, he is one of those people who schedules their activity 7am-9pm. Brad has a Plan on his vacation, so that he doesn’t miss a single opportunity.

When the three of them decide to take a trip together, it’s like starting from scratch. There’s no common ground. Nate pretty quickly throws his hands up and is like “I don’t care. Tell me what to pack and when to show up. I don’t have time for this.” And now Ray and Brad feel all this Pressure to convince Nate that non-visiting vacations are worth the trouble. But they don’t know if Nate is an excursions kind of person or a lounge on the beach kind of person. They know he’s a “wants to have a plan” kind of person.

They spend all this time negotiating sleep in time versus activity time, trying to find the perfect balance, doing all this research to make sure they find the place that is the most cost efficient and the most time efficient. Nate comes home time and again to find them bent over a shared laptop screen, discussing and debating.

Time comes for the vacation, and Brad and Ray are So Nervous. Is Nate going to like what they planned? Is this going to be fun for him? But it turns out Vacation!Nate is completely relaxed. He goes with the flow! He’s totally up for silliness! He takes off his watch! It’s captivating, but they also wish they had known this TWELVE SPREADSHEETS AGO.


End file.
